Date: Thu, 9 Dec 2004 23:56:19 +0000 (GMT)
From: roy p...... <sunbeamtb@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Peter Johnson part one

Here's the start of a little tale of teen angst and
emotional awakening told from the angle of one of the three
main players, Peter. It is all my own work; all the usual
disclaimers apply. You probably shouldn't read it unless you
are a 500 year old time lord living on a planet where there
are no laws that say you can't. I first wrote it some years
ago having wondered if I could write anything and now I'll
thrust it onto an unsuspecting world. There is more of it -
I'll spare you that though unless you're desperate enough to
ask for it.


                              1
     Peter Johnson woke up, slowly regaining consciousness
of the world around him. One eye sleepily opened and almost
focussed on the clock on his bedside shelf. Half past nine.
The eye closed again and Peter reran in his mind clips of
the dream he'd just broken. Oh yes, Nathan, the new boy in
his class. Peter slid his right hand down his side, and
round onto his crotch. Oh, no - wet again. He felt the warm
stickiness on his sheet, his thigh, his dick. His mother's
rantings echoed through his head. 'That's a dirty thing to
do, Peter. If you cant control your filthy body, at least go
to the bathroom to do it and save me all this washing.'
He wouldn't have minded so much if she'd  said it just to
him, but she had held the dirty sheet up in full view of his
father and elder brother as they sat at the kitchen table,
having breakfast last Saturday morning. His father had
frowned at him, with a look that said 'I'm disappointed with
you again, Peter, and I'm going to have a strong word with
you about this next time you want something from me.' Alan,
his brother, had just looked at him with a smirk that
promised unending ribbing about 'pulling his pud' in front
of school friends for weeks. Hadn't any of them heard of wet
dreams - it wasn't his fault that even if he'd 'relieved
himself' before bed his dreams would give him an orgasm he
couldn't enjoy during his sleep.

      Peter sat up in the bed. Here was that ridiculous
feeling again - the sensual enjoyment of adolescent
sexuality and the loathing of what he preferred. What
wouldn't he give to be turned on by the lithe beauties in
his brothers porn magazines, to get hard watching girl
dancers on the television pop music shows or to have furtive
grope sessions with one of the more forward girls in his
class. However much he didn't want to, he couldn't stop
himself stealing glances at his male classmates in the
showers after P.E., or thumbing the aforementioned porno
magazines hidden under his brother's shirts in Alan's
bedroom wardrobe to gaze in awe at the erect studs servicing
the girls that the books were really about. He became aware
that his dick was standing to attention again, demanding to
be satisfied. He leaned back against the wall and
straightened his legs out, his hand wrapping itself around
the insatiable source of his personal pleasure. Another two
minutes away from the real world, lost in his own
satisfaction on a higher plane where anything he liked was
alright. He felt the excitement build to the point where
nothing else mattered - five spurts later he was back in his
old sad, sordid world with another stain to wipe from the
carpet. Life sucked.

     Peter opened his wardrobe door and studied the tangled
mess inside. He rummaged for a while and pulled out his
black jeans and a black t-shirt. He felt in a black mood
today - well, dirty grey really but this was the nearest
equivalent that his mother wouldn't call scruffy and demand
he change. Life still sucked. He dressed quickly, wasting no
time on niceties like underpants or socks. The white
trainers stood out from the black theme, but so what? Who
would know what he meant by his choice of clothes anyway?
Peter headed downstairs for   breakfast, stopping only in
the bathroom for a piss and to flush away the tissues he'd
used to clean up his carpet. His mother was busy with the
housework and he had to settle for a pop-tart and glass
of milk. "The rest of the family can get up for breakfast at
half-eight," his mother whined. "You can have whatever you
get for yourself or go without - and tidy up after you."
Life sucked even more.

     "I'm going to town!" Peter shouted from the front door.
"Back before six!" SLAM went the door behind him, drowning
any objection or reproval that was coming in reply. He
pulled the contents of his pocket out into his hand. Enough
for the bus fare there and back, and a McDonalds for lunch.
A pound or so spare, enough for a computer magazine perhaps,
or..... why did W.H.Smiths, for all their censorship and
conservatism, have those magazines on display? He could
stand for hours reading the computer gaming and playstation
mags, avoiding the shop girls forever fussing and tidying
the shelves, the infrequent visit by an assistant manager -
"are you going to buy that magazine?" ("I'm not sure if I've
got this one - when does next month's come out?") and
glancing furtively at the copies of Hom and Gay Male on the
shelf opposite, daring him to grab one and rush, exact cash
in hand, to one of the tills as its previous customer left,
wait the lifelong seconds while the girl scanned its
barcode, slipped it into a bag and hand it back to him with
a knowing smile. No, he'd never be brave enough to do that.
It would be less embarrassing to slip it under a coat and
steal it - even if he were caught, the interrogation would
take place in an office, privately.

     Peter got on the bus, handed the child's fare to the
driver, and was pleasantly surprised to be handed a ticket
without the third degree questioning about his age. He sat
about halfway down the bus and studied his fellow
travellers. Mostly bored families on their weekly shopping
expedition to town. Young children who breathed on the
window and drew in the mist that was left. Husbands glancing
at their watches and wondering how much it would cost to buy
their wives the 'little extras' they wanted and still get
home in time for the big match on TV. How nice it must be to
be that happily married that it was boring. Peter turned his
head and watched the houses speed by. That old song "Little
boxes" sprang into his mind. His Dad had found it in the
loft once, and terrified them all by playing it with
accompanying memories of his youth as one of the 'trendies',
or whatever he'd called them. Peter played one of his 'on
the bus' games, looking at houses and imagining what was
going on inside them. Kids playing the latest computer
games, couples rowing, lovers fucking, boys wanking....

     Peter frowned to himself, then realised that the bus
was stopping at the shopping centre. He ran down the bus and
jumped off just as the doors were closing, straight into a
lady laden with shopping. "I'm so sorry," he blurted out,
picking up her bags and hoping nothing was broken he'd have
to pay for. "Nearly missed my stop...." He recognised Mrs
Warner from his road. Shit! His dad would hear of this
and... "Oh Hello Peter! I'm glad I've bumped into you!"
"Been bumped into you mean!" " Yes, well, hmphh, no damage
done, luckily. Now, my nephew Ian is coming to stay with me
next week - you remember him, don't you?" Peter remembered.
A tough little kid a year younger than him, a real pain,
wouldn't play but fought like a demon, especially when he
found he could beat Peter every time. A textbook sadist, if
ever there was one. "Well, he phoned me the other day and
asked if you
still lived here. I think he enjoyed playing with you when
he was here before." Enjoyed hurting me, thought Peter. "So
I said yes, you still lived up the road and he could go and
play with you, if that's alright?" "Well," said Peter,
thinking as fast as he could, "I don't know, I've got to
revise for my exams and Dad's made me promise to tidy my
room and...."  "Good, here's my bus. I'll get him to ring
you when he gets here." Life sucked ultimate.
     Peter wandered round the shops aimlessly. If there had
been a coke tin on the floor, he'd have kicked it. There
wasn't. He couldn't. No new Playstation mags in Smiths, but
a new assistant manager employed, it seemed, to stand over
the shop girls so they fussed and tidied at an alarming
rate, and to wait for him to come in and not buy anything.
"Tried the Library," he'd whispered loudly. "They lend
books."
     He stood in front of  J.B.Sports' window. Looking but
not seeing. Thinking but not remembering. "You'd look really
sexy in those shorts!"
  Peter jumped and looked round, still taking in the words
that had shocked him back to reality. Nathan!!
"What did you say ??!!"
"Oh nothing really. I just thought that the United strip
would suit you."
"What?? Why?? What the hell??..."
"Oh, credit me with something" Nathan said. "I couldn't miss
you staring at me most of last week in school" "But..."
"And you not see me looking back. Perhaps I've had more
practice than you."
"What d'you mean?"
"Looking at boys I fancy."

      Peter felt the sweat run down his back, his face
turn red as a stop light and the mixture of fear and anger
that made him draw back a clenched fist. "Sorry, sorry!"
Nathan said almost in a whisper, looking down at the
pavement. "Fancy a McD? At least let me feed your stomach as
well as your hate."
   Peter unclenched his fist, but was still guarded. "Well
alright, a Big Mac, large fries and a large Coke if you're
paying."
"You will?! I thought you were going to lay me out."
 Nathan looked up into Peters face again "I wouldn't blame
you. You wouldn't be the first." Peter saw the resigned look
disappear from Nathan's eyes. "Not yet, I'll have your food
and an explanation first."

      The boys walked silently in through the gaudy red and
yellow shopfront, neither daring to speak because they
didn't know what to say. Nathan ordered the meals, handed
over a twenty pound note and looked disparagingly at the
small amount of change returned. "Can we sit in the window?"
he asked. "Come on then." Peter replied, leading the way.
They sat eating, still too afraid to be the first one to
speak. Peter eventually broke the spell, with a mouthful of
burger he said, "What's it all about then? I didn't speak to
you at all last week, I know you're new here and that's all
I know about you. I wasn't staring at you at all, you're
just new, I was trying to weigh you up, that's all."
 "Sorry again. I misread you then. My fault. I don't blame
you for flying off the handle. Perhaps..."
"What?"
"Perhaps I saw what wasn't there because I
wanted it to be. Now you've finished and I
won't spoil your meal I'll tell you. It'll
get out soon enough anyway - it always does.
I'm used to the gags and beatings now. It
happened all the time at my last school.. I
deserve it anyway. I'm gay. A faggot. Poof.
Shirt lifter. Shit shoveller. Whatever you
want to call me, I am, I always have been and
I always will be. Please wait till we're
outside before you hit me - I don't want you
to get into trouble over me, I'm not really
worth it."

     Peter sat open mouthed listening to
Nathan's outpouring. "God, how can you say
all that?" he said at last. "I've never heard
anything so brave. Or stupid." Nathan looked
into Peter's eyes. For once, he wasn't going
to get battered. Yet. Was that a tear?? It
certainly was, and it started his own
waterworks. The two boys, thrown together by
chance, frightened in different ways by
themselves, were crying. Then smiling. Then
laughing. "Was I that obvious?" Peter asked,
between giggles. "Yes, I'm afraid so." Nathan
replied. "That's why I spoke to you back at
J.B.'s. A day or two staring, yes, but all
week - that's either infatuation or hate. The
smile could have been you thinking what you
would do to hurt me. I had to know, and I'd
rather have you on your own than with a
gang."
"Well I think you know now, don't you?" Peter
said. "How can you be so open about it
though? Nobody, but nobody knows about me."
"I do."
"Well, yes, but - I didn't tell you, you
guessed."
"I could have guessed wrong!"
"You didn't. But if you'd have asked me, I
would have laid you out!"

Nathan remembered for a moment. "Self-denial
is a terrible thing. You can keep the secret
from everyone, but to hide from yourself is
the worst torment you can endure. When I was
outed at my last school, I wanted to die on
the spot. Really wanted the Earth to open and
swallow me up. Some bully guessed I was gay,
pretended he was too, led me on until I
thought he was genuine and opened my heart to
him.. I loved him, and I told him so. God I
lusted after his body! He said he would be OK
with it, he just wanted time to adjust - only
a day he said. Next day at school he led the
biggest gang I've ever seen up to me and told
them I was queer, a faggot and had wanted to
suck his cock.. I was battered almost
senseless and had to have three weeks off. I
dreaded going back, and when I walked back
in, some of them shouted 'Hey gay boy' and
without thinking I turned round and answered
"Yes?" I realised at that moment what I was,
and whatever it was called that's what I was,
and it didn't matter. The names, the stares
and finger pointing, the beatings, whatever,
didn't matter - I could live with what I was
even if they couldn't." Peter sat back in the
uncomfortable McDonalds chair. "Wheew!" was
all he could say. "Wheew!"  A moments
silence. Then "And I thought my life was
shit! Fancy going through all that! Is that
why you left there?" Nathan relaxed back in
the chair. "No. Dad got a new job here and we
had to move. I was just getting settled
again, you know, finding friends who didn't
care about what I was if they found out, and
putting up with the stick from those who did.
They were getting bored with it anyway, I was
no fun if I didn't fight back." "And now you
think you've got to go through
it all again?" "Yes, I know I have to."
"Well, Nathan, I think you've found the first
friend who knows and doesn't mind."

     The boys had long finished their meals
and walked out of the restaurant. They spent
the afternoon exploring the shops and walking
round the town, Peter being the tour guide.
Talking and joking normally. Except nothing
about their sexuality was mentioned again
that day. Eventually it was time to part and
return to their respective homes. "See yer
Monday, Nat!" "Yea, see yer, Pete!"

     Peter didn't look at anyone on the bus
home. Nor at any of the houses. Neither did
he think about Nathan. He was just happy
being himself.

     Peter did think about Nathan later
though. As he slipped into the warm clean
sheets on his bed. Nathan. How could he not
have remembered before! Who had just walked
into his life, his dark, sad, sordid world
and make it all sunshine and light again.
He'd sat with his family at dinner, enjoyed
their company, joined in their conversations,
laughed at their jokes. Alright, they'd
looked at him a bit strangely at times, but
they hadn't scowled or frowned at him,
derided or argued with him. Life was great.
He'd even sat and watched the quiz shows his
mother watched on TV, answered a few
questions with her and felt proud of her when
she got the jackpot question right. She
should be on that show, he told her she could
have won us that car. Nathan. Yes, he would
think about him now. He got out of bed, found
a clean pair of boxers and put them on. Back
between those warm sheets. Nathan. Mmmm. Eyes
closed, Nathan's smiling face on his mind.
Sleep.

     That eye opened sleepily again and
almost focussed on the clock. Eight o'clock.
Breakfast. Nathan. Mmmmmm. Peter threw back
the bedcover and looked down. Damp on the
boxers, but dry on the bed! Yessss! He got
out of bed, slipped off the boxers and wiped
his damp pubes with them. Nathan. He grabbed
another clean pair of boxers and a white t-
shirt from the wardrobe drawer and covering
his front with them, opened his bedroom door.
All clear. He ran to the bathroom and locked
the door. A quick pee, then on with the
shower. He shivered with pleasure as the warm
water ran down his face, his arms, his legs
and his back as he turned round. Mmmmmm.
Nice. Nathan. Mmmmmm. Nice! He soaped himself
all over, feeling the soft lather on his
skin. He rubbed his hard dick with a soapy
hand, but only to wash it. Nathan. Mmmm. He
turned slowly under the warm spray, washing
off the lather and the night's sweat. Nathan.
Mmmmmm. He dried himself off on a soft warm
towel from the airing cupboard. Nathan.
Mmmmmm. He pulled on the clean boxers,
carefully tucking his semi-erection inside
and fastening the button. He even threw the
towel in the washing basket. Grabbing the t-
shirt again, he walked back to his room.
Where's that body spray - here it is.
Psssssssss, pssssssst.  Into the wardrobe and
out with his new dark blue Levi's. The white
t-shirt. White socks. The cleanest pair of
trainers. In front of the mirror with a comb.
Nathan. Mmmmmm. Me. Mmmm.

     "Mornin' Mum. Any breakfast yet?"  "Good
lord, what's up with you? Nice as pie last
night, up early
clean and smart this morning! Sunday, too!"
Marjorie Johnson peered at her middle child.
The mistake. The disappointment. The cause of
so many rows with Henry in the first two
years. Now look at him! Her heart swelled
with pride. He might turn out alright, after
all. "I haven't started breakfast yet, I'm
letting your Dad sleep in a while this
morning - something's troubling him at the
moment, and he wont tell me -" She stifled
the next sentence - too much already. "Can I
help, then? Put the bacon on, or something?"
"Yes, please." Peter watched the bacon brown
slowly under the grill, and stirred the pan
of beans he'd put on as well. His mother
edged into his space by the cooker and
cracked an egg into the fry pan. Henry
Johnson strolled into the kitchen, wearing
slippers, his dressing gown and a day's
stubble. "Mornin' Marje."  He looked at the
boy, clean, smart, helping his mom. Henry
rubbed his eye, pleased at the sight. It
deserved some praise. "Mornin', son." Peter
didn't expect any more. Henry couldn't give
any more. It was enough for them both.
"Mornin' Dad. Breakfast's nearly ready."

     Marje placed the five meals on the
table. "Alan Anne-marie!" she yelled towards
the door. "Breakfast!" Ten minutes later the
family sat facing their morning meals. Alan
felt fragile, a thumping headache. Too much
lager last night. He looked at the breakfast
and felt the bile rise in his throat. He
pushed the plate away. "Sorry, Ma! I couldn't
face a thing today." Anne-marie played
nonchalantly with her new doll. Held it over
the food, waiting for it to eat. "Yes.
Alright!" at her mother's insistence that she
eat the breakfast. Peter finished first. "Can
I be excused, please?" he asked the gathering
in general. "I'd like to watch the computer
game programme on the telly for a while."
"Alright", his father replied, "you can."
Peter stood up, and placed his chair up to
the table. "Mum, call me when you've all
finished - I'll wash up for you." Marjorie
and Henry looked at each other quizzically.
'A girl, perhaps' they both thought.

     Peter flicked through the channels till
he found the show he wanted. He watched
intently, but took none of it in. Nathan.
Damn - I don't know where he lives, don't
even know his phone number. "Peter!" his
mum's voice jerked him back. "They're in the
sink ready for you!"

     Later that afternoon the phone rang.
Henry Johnson answered it, hummed and mmm'ed
into it for a moment, then turned and said
"Peter! Its for you!" Peter leapt to the
phone, his heart in his mouth. "Hi!" "Hi
Pete!  Its Ian! Remember me?" Peter's heart
sank. Ian. Damn. "Hi Ian, yes - I remember
you." The disappointment was noticeable in
his voice. "Do you want to come and hang
out?" Ian asked. "I'm surrounded by boring
old farts here and if I don't get out, I'll
take up knitting or something." "Well," Peter
hesitated, grasping for an excuse, "I'm a bit
busy right now, later perhaps...?" "Look,"
Ian said, "If its about last time, I'm sorry.
I'm not into belting people now, I just want
to chill, kick a ball, anything." Peter
didn't know why, but he suddenly felt a
little pang of sorrow for this guy. Pushed
out to an aunt so's his folks could go off on
holiday again, he thought. "OK then, I'll
come down." "Cool. See ya!" Peter thought he
could hear a smile in Ian's voice. Alright
then, he'd go. He could always leave if Ian
got heavy. And tell his aunt not to ask him
again. "I'm going down to Mrs. Warner's.
Ian's staying with her again." he said to his
folks. "Won't be long, I expect" "You be
careful, Peter. I remember he wasn't good for
you last time." his mother warned.. "I will.
Back soon."
     Ian Price was waiting on Mrs. Warner's
doorstep. "Hi Pete, come in. The old farts
are in the back, nattering. I'm out of my
tree!" They went upstairs to Ian's room.
Ian's room. Not the spare room, Ian's room.
Books, posters, clothes strewn around - and a
computer on a desk. "What's going on?" Peter
asked "Your folks off on a world cruise or
somethin'?" "Not quite," Ian sighed. "They
were to go on holiday this week, but then Mum
came home early one day and found Dad in bed
with our neighbour Mrs Burns. Huge row, mega
fight, the works. She nearly killed him.
Threw him out, trashed his clothes,
everything. Now they're divorcing and I'm
told I've got to decide who I want to live
with." Ian looked into Peters eyes. "How can
I do that? I love them both. I know they've
been crap with me sometimes, but I saw why
before this. They were very close and had to
be together. I just got in the way at times
so they'd pack me off to relatives and have a
holiday together. That sucked and I became an
arsehole to fight back. Demanding attention,
I suppose." Peter could see Ian's eyes
watering up. He couldn't take this, from a
kid who'd taken delight at bashing him up at
every opportunity last year. He would go.
Make an excuse, say he hoped things'd get
better and go. Now.  Too late, Ian's emotions
exploded in a sea of tears and he threw his
arms around Peter. Peter held his arms back,
away from Ian. This was too gross! "Wanna
know why I kept beating you up last year?
'Cause I'm gay and I fancied you, that's why.
I hated it, because I wanted to be like my
Dad, loving a girl who loved him so much that
she wouldn't share him, even with their
child."  Ian's sobbing overwhelmed him, the
tears running down his cheeks onto Peter's
shoulder, soaking into the clean white t-
shirt. Slowly Peter brought his arms round
onto Ian's back and held him tightly.

     After a moment or two, Ian straightened
up, pulling out of Peter's grasp. He looked
down at the floor and folded his arms on his
chest. "Sorry about that." he said, not
looking up. "It's that all my stuff here
because I've come to live here." Peter looked
around again. So the tough guy's life has
come to this. A back bedroom at a sixty-five
year old relative's house and a few of the
many luxuries he had enjoyed as a spoilt only
child. The pathetic tragedy of the situation
exposed itself to him, a spoilt child who
could have had everything for the asking,
really got none of what he really wanted -
love.

 "Whaddaya mean, fancied me?" he heard
himself say, Ian's earlier words having
finally sunk in. 'Don't answer that' he
silently wished. 'I don't need this, I don't
want to hear it.' "Like I say, I wanted to be
in what is - was a regular relationship. I
saw the strength it gave my folks, the
lifestyle that went with it. I wanted to be
as happy as they were - were." He looked down
again as he repeated that word, this time as
a past tense. "But I couldn't hack it. None
of the girls did anything for me. I thought,
well its just a case of waiting for the right
one to come along, I'll just wait... but then
I came here last summer and ...well, when I
saw you, I had the feeling I knew I'd been
waiting for. But you were....a boy! I hated
you so much for that, you just had to pay.
So I hurt you every way I could. You ruined
my dreams, my life, all my plans for my
future. Then when I went back home I realised
you hadn't, it was me. I'd not wanted to be
like someone else, I'd wanted to be someone
else.  I'd never thought about me - the real
me. I didn't even know the real me - and I
didn't want to. I hated the real me, and
didn't know why until my folks had the break-
up. All I knew was, I had to come back and
see you, because you held the key to why I
was so mixed up. And now I know and so do
you. Sorry. Its your turn to hurt me now - go
on - I won't fight back." Ian flinched as
Peter raised his arm, but instead of lashing
out, it stretched forward a hand of
compassion onto his shoulder. "No need,"
Peter said. "No need."

     Ian and Peter sat on the bed and talked
for hours. Eventually Marjorie Johnson came
to collect her son, who had missed his meal
by two hours. "Jeez, sorry, mum. Ian and I've
been talking and I never noticed the time."
turning to Ian he added "You going to our
school, then now you're staying here awhile?"
"I will be," his new friend replied " but not
this week. I've got a week to settle in
first. See you soon?" "Yeah, sure. Can I drop
by after school tomorrow an' see how you're
getting on?" Marjorie thought it strange that
the boys shook hands as they parted, but
then, it had been a strange weekend.